


A Night to Remember

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Canon Universe, I'm Sorry, Light nipple play?, M/M, Porn without plot basically, Rimming, Snogging everywhere, The title is cliche as fuck, Top!Harry, X-Factor Aftermath, i'm shit at tagging, power bottom!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It takes less than five seconds for Harry to appear on the opposite side of Louis, and half the time for Harry to roll up the divider, saying a quick “knock when we get there please” before the driver’s face disappears. Like clockwork, Harry is at Louis’ lips like his body physically wilted when they were apart; Harry’s suckling Louis’ bottom lip, pressing a canine into it every so often as his tongue fully explores every crevice of Louis’ mouth.  Teeth collide every once and a while, but expressions of hurt and apology are lost amongst the crescendo of their responding moans. Everything about this moment feels buzzed, as if Harry’s boundless energy is actually transferable like some sort of life source; Louis feels high off of it.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or the one where Louis lets Harry perform next to his idol during the X-Factor Final, and Harry busts a nut in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii  
> So I wrote this in about twelve hours I'd say, running on three hours of sleep all of Monday. It actually stems from a post made by [theboyfriendstagram](http://theboyfriendstagram.tumblr.com/) about the night after the beautiful X-Factor Final this year (something we all enjoyed, I know) that must have definitely entailed a lot of fucking. She ended up beating me to the punch, and you can read hers [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2778620). I can assure you that I hadn't read it before I wrote this, so any and all similarities aside from the prompt are coincidences.  
> This was quite fun to write! I really enjoyed it. I'm not sure how good it is yet -- haven't had anyone seriously look through it for grammar and, though I've tried, it's still too fresh in my mind, so I'm not really capable of any good edits. If you see any glaring mistakes, please let me know.  
> Also note: there are probably Americanisms everywhere, because I have not been to the UK for longer than a week, and while some speech patterns I have picked up, I'm not an expert by any means. I tried my best -- again if you see any mistakes, feel free to let me know!  
> if you guys think of a better title, please let me know, because this sucks.

“What an _epic_ performance, lads!”

“Completely and utterly smashed it out there.”

“Fantastic job, boys. Go out for drinks to celebrate that reaction, good lord!”

Louis can only grin in response to the praises flying around backstage, his heart beating a mile a minute in his throat. Zayn grabs him from behind, laughter splitting the air around Louis’ ears and sending him into fits of his own. His stomach even starts to hurt from it as he gets pulled along towards the dressing rooms, but he doesn’t give a shit; it’s better than yesterday, a memory that makes him cringe a little. Fuck is he glad that whatever the hell he had was only a twenty four hour bug: He’d been dreading his entire existence in front of the toilet for what felt like hours all day yesterday, watching helplessly as plates of food emptied his stomach into the bowl. It had crossed his mind several times that day to go ahead and excuse himself from the performance today, but he ultimately decided against it (mostly because a new spell would stop him from ever sending the text).

And _fuck_ is he glad that he did.

Where Do Broken Hearts Go is decidedly the band favorite on the album – or rather, has been decided by Niall and everyone has along with it. Not that Louis could really disagree, at least in the performance sense. It has a rock star beat that’s unlike any of their other songs, sapping nutrients from their actual roots in eighties’ music. Not to mention, the beat is fucking _sick_. They’d had to rerecord the album version at least five times just because they couldn’t stop dancing, and at least one of them would miss their cue every time, too pumped to notice (or care). So, of course Louis had expected today’s performance to be absolutely incredible (the other reason he never sent out that text); they were performing one of their best songs with a _Rolling Stone_ for fuck’s sake. This went above and beyond all of Louis’ expectations, though. Rehearsal had gone well, yeah, but nothing – _nothing_ – could have prepared him for the huge wave that hit when he could hear the fans screaming along with them. It was like his nerve endings were on fire, like suddenly he was the sun and all he could do was burst outwards.

He was on top of the world in that moment. Nothing could stop him from belting during that song. _Nothing_. And he’s never going to forget this night for as long as he lives.

“That was fucking _killer_ , mate!” Niall’s yelling brings Louis back down to Earth, though the performance buzz still pumps through his veins. He realizes he’s already halfway through undressing at this point despite not remembering ever starting, but fuck if he cares. “Did you _see_ him, Lou?! He was _shredding next to us_. Ronnie fucking Woods – a _legend_ – was playin’ on stage with us! Can y’believe?!”

Louis’ laughing before he even realizes it. “I know, Ni. I _was_ there, y’know.” The sarcastic note at the end goes mostly unnoticed, though Louis can’t say he blames him; Niall wasn’t lying when he said he was a guitarist fan. Plus, One Direction or not, they just shared a stage with a fucking _Rolling Stone_. How many acts could say that nowadays, huh? That fact alone is enough to spike Louis’ blood pressure again, make him almost dizzy on his performance high.

He’s just about finished changing – how come he’s the only one left? Those boys always leaving him behind – when a certain curly haired rock star enters stage left, and if Louis was beaming before, it pales in comparison to the ever-softening glow of a smile he’s sporting now. His boy looks gorgeous, cheeks flushed a bright red, chocolate waves sticking to his sweaty forehead. The flamingo shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show off those swallows, hanging rumpled and open off of his shoulders. Those black jeans look absolutely sinful now hanging low on his hips, gripping tight around his long, long legs. He’s standing awkwardly, too, his knees turned in and his toes pointing at each other because, of course, even as a rock star, Harry Styles will always be Bambi. Always.

“Hey Curly.” Louis breathes, turning to grab his jeans off the table. “Have fun out there?” It’s a dumb question, really, that he sure as hell knows the answer to, but he asks it anyways because he knows Harry likes to be indulged.

“You moved.”

Louis stops in his tracks, hand outstretched towards the jumper of Harry’s he’d worn to rehearsal that day that’s strewn across the table, the two-sizes-too-big-for-him left arm water falling off  the side from where he’d haphazardly thrown it off a few hours before. For a moment, Louis’ puzzled – _the fuck does that mean?_ – before it hits him at once, and he can’t help the smug smile that takes over his face when he gets to thinking about it.

Everyone had been excited to perform with Ronnie Wood, of course; none of them would ever deny that. But there was something about this that was just _different_ for Harry. Louis knew full well it was because he loved The Rolling Stones, that this man was one of Harry’s _idols_ for fuck’s sake, and they got to be on stage with him. Harry had been on the end in rehearsal, and the whole time Louis watched as he snuck glance after glance at the star in the room. So yeah, _maybe_ Louis had cooked up a plan to let Harry stand next to his idol for the rest of the song if he could manage it, and _maybe_ he took advantage of Harry’s wandering to take his mic stand on the end. But hey, you should have seen the absolute look of bliss on Harry’s face when he got to grind on Ronnie Wood, alright? You would have thought it was well worth it, too, if your baby, who used to be so self-conscious that he cried after supposedly cocking up a solo (to this day, Louis still has no idea what he’s talking about), took control of the entire stage like that, channeling confidence and big eighties’ hair the whole damn time.

“Yeah, I did.” Louis says, pulling the jumper over top of their shared white tee shirt. “You looked like you wanted to have a chance, so I figured I could tolerate your unbearably tall mic stand for a minute or two while you rocked out.”

“Really?” Harry breathes, and, okay, when the fuck did he get this close? Louis could have sworn he was across the room half a second ago, but now there are big arms caging his body to the wall and green, green eyes as wide as saucers staring at him like he’s the world, pupils blown so wide that Louis can see his reflection in the black.

Harry’s proximity always makes Louis melt. “Yeah.” He says back, much softer than before. “Hey, Haz, I – I’m really proud of you, yeah?” He rushes out, reaching up to touch the side of Harry’s face. “Every time we come here, all I can remember is how scary this used to be for us – for you –  and you just – you really took the stage tonight, honestly baby, and I swear nobody is as confident as—mmph?”

Suddenly, there are lips crashing into his and hands on his face pulling him flush to Harry’s body while simultaneously thrusting them both back against the wall, and alright, he hadn’t quite finished what he was going to say, but Harry never does this and perhaps this is a better way of conveying what he means anyways. They used to do this all the time – in fact, he’s well aware that they got caught snogging in this very dressing room – so it’s only fitting, right? Louis tugs on Harry’s curls to pull him closer, standing on his tip toes to better leverage himself to bite on Harry’s lower lip and swipe his tongue along the top.

Harry moves his hands lower, fingers trailing down the curves of Louis’ body. Louis shivers at the lightness, completely enveloped by the touch. “Louis, Louis, Louis.” Harry’s chanting between kisses, his hands spanning across Louis’ arse. There’s a moment where Harry squeezes hard, and Louis’ moan must be gratifying, because suddenly Louis is no longer standing, ankles wrapped around Harry’s waist as the taller boy shrugs him up against the wall. Ragged, heated breaths escape Harry when he breaks off, his soft lip bruised and red and raw just the way Louis likes them. “Thank you.” Harry says quietly, lips next to Louis’ ear like he’s telling a secret. “God, thank you so much. You don’t… I can’t – fuck, I just – I love you.”

Louis is melting again at that, at how vulnerable those words seem so close. He tries not to think about how four years ago, he was stood in this very spot, snogging a tiny cherub with a tuft of curly hair and pudgy cheeks, whispering sweet little nothings into his hair. It makes him close to tears, that does, so he sets it aside for later, when he’s alone and can reminisce on how fucking lucky he is that fate had it in the cards for him to find love incarnate so early. “I love you, too.” Louis doesn’t realize how breathless he sounds until the words come out of his mouth, his voice a mere ghost of what it was not even an hour before.

“M’ gonna—” Harry starts, though he cuts himself off as he takes Louis’ mouth again, his tongue slow and thorough for a while before he speaks again between kisses. “’M gonna fuck you so hard.”

Okay, when Louis made the split second decision as Harry was dancing like a maniac on stage, the forefront of his mind had been, of course, proudly watching his baby let himself go in front of the world. The most he’d expected was a thorough snogging – please see right now – and maybe some light teasing for days after – y’know, because Harry needs to remember this night the next time he meets _David fucking Beckham_ without Louis, m’kay? But not… he hadn’t really thought it would… _shit_ , his baby’s fucking horny as hell.

“’M gonna fuck you until you’re seeing stars.” Harry hasn’t stopped talking dirty despite the fact that Louis’ brain broke for a second. He can feel the thick, twitching outline of Harry’s cock flush against his stomach – _when did Harry adjust himself?_ – as Harry ruts up against him. The flush that spreads so quickly down Louis’ body is embarrassing, arousal already pooling low in his stomach not just from the dirty talk, but anticipation as Harry claims his lips again and again between the words. Harry has gotten like this twice before now, and both times were nights Louis will never, ever forget.

Fuck, his bum is already sore just thinking about it.

“Are you, H? Gonna make me feel good, huh?” Louis doesn’t realize he’s encouraging him until the words have already begun tumbling out of his mouth. That’s all the invitation Harry needs, it seems, his body coming closer to hold Louis up on his strength alone as he takes one of his hands and palms Louis’ crotch. If Louis moans so high in his throat it would put Zayn’s falsetto to shame, well, only Harry has to know.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry continues as Louis’ fingers start to tease at Harry’s head from the top of his jeans. “Gonna – shit – gonna make you come so hard all night. Need to feel you – _fuck_ , Lou – under me. Need you to feel so good—” Harry cuts himself off, a barely suppressed moan grumbling low from within him when Louis makes use of Harry’s unbuttoned jeans, using the thin material of his pants to rub him slow, teasing.

“Yeah?” Louis grunts. “When are you gonna take me then, huh? Or are you all talk?” It’s meant to come out as half joking, but Harry kisses him so hard he must think it’s a challenge. Harry breaks for maybe half a second to check his phone – must have called the car already – before pulling Louis back and sucking hard on his lower lip.

It goes on like this for a few more minutes before Harry slowly breaks to simple pecks, resting his forehead on Louis’ for a nice slow moment. “Fuck, I love you.” Harry rasps again. Louis feels warm all over at the words, watching as Harry makes just enough space between them to change out of his performance clothes, planting a few kisses on Louis anywhere he can reach.

“Name’s not Fuck, Harold.” Louis says, because even if Harry is the most precious thing in the world, Louis has been and always will be a little shit. Harry doesn’t seem to mind at all, though, actually _guffawing_ at such a terrible joke. It makes Louis smile regardless. “But I love you, too.”

Harry finishes zipping up his boots just as Louis finally gets his skinny jeans up over his hips. Louis knows he’s still smiling – hasn’t really stopped since the performance – but now more than ever can he feel his eyes crinkling at the way Harry sticks his tongue out when he reaches up to put his hair in a bun. Harry must notice because suddenly his eyes are lighting up like the sun, and his hands are pressed to Louis’ cheeks as he leans down to press sweet, trailing kisses down Louis’ nose, planting soft pecks to Louis’ mouth. It’s like sensory overload for Louis when Harry does this, because he can practically taste the sugar on Harry’s breath, can feel the sweet ache of love just seeping into his bones with every soft brush of their lips, can smell just how delightfully invigorating everything about Harry is. Every cell in his body is chanting Harry, Harry, _Harry_ , cursing every molecule that manages to come between them. It’s as if his entire body wants to just meld with Harry’s, and… it’s not like he’d mind.

What can he say? He’s a sap and was fucked the minute this boy walked into the toilets.

“The car’s here, Lou.” Harry says in response to the buzz on the table. “As much as I’d love to ravish you here—”

“Already done that, love.” Louis interjects.

Harry just smiles back at him, shaking his head a little. “C’mon.” He says, holding out his hand. Louis happily obliges then, letting Harry’s massive hands dwarf his as he lets Harry lead him along. It’s not very often that the ship leads the compass, but Louis likes the twist every once and a while. As long as he has the anchor keeping him place, it doesn’t really matter how lost they get together.

Did Louis mention that he's a fucking sap? Because he’s a fucking sap.

When they get to the car, Harry opens Louis’ door first and greets the driver. His voice is too quiet for Louis to actually make out the words, but that doesn’t mean Louis can’t still admire the low rasp floating to his ears. He resists the urge to kiss his boy silly when Harry extends his arm as an invitation to get in, instead opting to brush his fingers past Harry’s still half-hard crotch on the way, adding a wink for good measure. Harry’s face lights up and darkens then at the same time, and, even in the low light of this secluded alley, Louis swears he sees Harry twitching in his pants.

It takes less than five seconds for Harry to appear on the opposite side of Louis, and half the time for Harry to roll up the divider, saying a quick “knock when we get there please” before the driver’s face disappears. Like clockwork, Harry is at Louis’ lips like his body physically wilted when they were apart; Harry’s suckling Louis’ bottom lip, pressing a canine into it every so often as his tongue fully explores every crevice of Louis’ mouth.  Teeth collide every once and a while, but expressions of hurt and apology are lost amongst the crescendo of their responding moans. Everything about this moment feels buzzed, as if Harry’s boundless energy is actually transferable like some sort of life source; Louis feels high off of it.

When they break apart for air, Louis’ aware that somewhere along the way, he’s managed to crawl in between Harry’s legs and into his lap – which may or may not be violating several safety laws. Harry doesn’t seem all that interested in safe travel, though. Instead, he starts planting fast, fervid kisses all over Louis’ face. “God, you’re gorgeous.” Harry says as he brushes his lips across Louis’ eyes. “You know that, don’t you?” Louis feels his cheeks warm as the soft words turn his heart to mush. Harry has always just _said_ things like that, thrown out these big, bold words like they were nothing with the most honest sincerity of anyone Louis has ever seen. It’s incredibly unfair to the hopeless romantic that is Louis Tomlinson, to hear someone so openly state such things that he has never believed to be true, and… well, there is a reason he’s been helplessly in love with this cherub rock star since he was eighteen.

Harry doesn’t stop kissing or touching or whispering sweet nothings the entire way home. It starts with his eyelashes of all things, where Harry describes how he loves the way they fan out across Louis’ cheeks when his eyes flutter shut. From there, Louis hears tales about how very blue his eyes are, how his cheekbones could cut glass, how his smile could end wars. Harry doesn’t stop at Louis’ face either. Harry’s found his way underneath Louis’ jumper, waxing poetic about Louis’ collarbones for the duration of a stoplight before pulling the jumper completely off and savagely kissing each and every one of Louis’ tattoos. He pays special attention to Louis’ compass and the rope and the arrow, kitten licking the “oops”. He spends forever fussing over the dagger, though – their most recent addition – and that’s the tipping point for Harry’s lull in arousal. Louis sees the flash in his dark, lust-blown eyes, watches that energy ignite again as Harry slides to Louis’ chest. All of a sudden, Louis is moaning loudly as he feels Harry’s tongue curl around his nipple, softly suckling the way he knows Louis likes.

“Fuck, Harry.” He breathes as he feels teeth graze across the tender nib. A groan escapes him when he feels Harry’s hips roll against his, and Louis can’t help the way his own hips answer back, desperate for friction and warmth and _Harry_. When Harry switches to the other side of his chest, Louis’ noises only get louder and needier, because _fuck_ Harry feels so big against his thigh, and just hearing the fabrics rub makes him want to rip it all off. Instead, he settles for grinding down harder and faster, knotting his fingers in Harry’s hair, loose strands pulled from his bun and strewn about every which way. Harry’s running his tongue down Louis’ abdomen, mumbling something over and over that Louis can’t quite make out until Harry thrusts against him _hard_ and Louis swears his vision blurs out everything but his boy.

“Pretty.” Harry is saying. “So, so pretty.”

Louis calls their dressing room conversation to mind then as he leans up for a kiss. Ravished indeed.

Harry is nipping at Louis’ belly button when a timid knock from the front brings them back to reality. Harry nearly jumps out of his skin from the sudden noise, hands gripped around Louis’ waist. Louis smirks a bit, though refrains from saying a word when he sees the pouty face Harry shoots him, instead moving to grab his jumper and exit the vehicle. The driver looks flushed – that divider had no hope of drowning out loud, loud, loud Louis – but she doesn’t seem all that surprised. Probably just a little awkward, if he had to guess, so he tips her extra for being such a good sport. Once Harry’s exited the car, she doesn’t stick around any longer, speeding away through the quiet streets of their neighborhood.

The silence that they walk in is peaceable, but Louis itches to break it. There are several smartarse comments that come to his mind as he shuffles towards the door, but Harry beats him to the punch. Or sort of, anyway. One grab of Louis’ wrist has him spun around to face Harry, and while he’d have loved to admire those green, green eyes of his for a bit longer, Harry’s got him pressed up against the door in no time, Harry’s hands exploring every part of his body like it’s suddenly become foreign ground. Louis can’t help but smirk, or at least attempt to since that’s kind of a difficult feat with a tongue down your throat. “Can’t go longer than a minute without touching me, can you?”

Harry just grunts in response, wrenching his lips away (though he keeps their sweaty foreheads connected) to grab his keys. “Don’t want to.” Harry says finally as he fiddles with the door – _the lock is broken!_ As he always claims– pulling Louis to rest on his chest as he pushes it ajar. Louis can only smile in response as he’s being urged inside their home. What can he say? He’s been a sucker since day one.

Louis manages to get his shoes off and run a few fingers through his drooping quiff before Harry has all his attention again. Louis is not quite sure how he always manages to _do_ that. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing; if there’s a Harry around, he’s the focus of Louis’ everything. Then again, is that really a surprise? Louis feels himself being lifted off the ground as he traces circles into Harry’s back, his other hand gripping Harry’s now incredibly messy, sagging bun. _No_. Louis replies to himself. _Not at all_.

“Off, off, off.” Harry is a petulant child, tugging persistently at Louis’ jumper once he's back on the ground. Louis snorts, shaking his head. Just to tease, he takes his time then, pulling the jumper off slowly and pretending to get his limbs caught up in the midst of removing it. However, Harry’s not about to take this shit – at least, not right now it seems – as he’s ripping it off and throwing it over the couch in an instant. “I have to do everything myself.” Harry huffs, a growl on the last word that turns into a catch of breath when Harry’s eyes come to Louis’ chest. Louis raises an eyebrow, looking down at himself.

His nipples look delightfully raw, tinged an angry scarlet that practically sears Louis’ retinas when he looks at them too long. There are bite marks just above his heart where Harry had sunk his teeth in for a taste. His right side has not been spared either, with bruises appearing below and around. Damn, he really hadn’t thought that Harry had gotten so rough in the car, but looking at his chest now, it’s clear that he will be feeling this in the morning. He can’t say he’s angry, though; Louis has always loved the bruises and the way they flourish on his skin. Sometimes, nothing feels lovelier than knowing you _belong_ to someone. That someone loves you enough to stake a claim on you, to ask for your permission to mark you up with that love. That’s something else.

“Fuck.” Harry says. Louis breaks from his trance to lock their eyes, and for a moment, they just stand there. Watching each other. Saying every single thing they’d ever want to say without a word passing their lips. Louis lets his eyes crinkle, and Harry looks like he’s experiencing the most blissful moment of his life. And even though Harry is moving now, is unbuttoning Louis’ jeans and pulling down his pants, they don’t break eye contact. _I need you_. Harry’s eyes seem to say to him.

 _Come get me, then_. Says Louis’ back.

It’s a flurry of motion again after that, Harry dropping to his knees and clutching Louis closer by digging his fingers into the flesh of Louis’ arse. Louis hisses at that, feels himself twitch as his eyes follow Harry’s every movement. Apparently, Harry wasn’t finished ravishing him the car because now he’s attempting to write sonnets about Louis’ hips with his mouth. Words sometimes escape him – “Lou, jesus, you’re so _curvy_ ” – but other times his arsenal is completely nonverbal, like when he moves to bite Louis’ waist or kitten lick Louis’ hipbones or follow Louis’ happy trail with gentle kisses. “Baby,” Harry breathes. He’s _reverent_ like this, and Louis feels his own breath catch again. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

_God, what did I do to deserve you?_

That’s when Harry starts in on Louis’ thighs, and _fuck_ Louis knows he’s done for then. Harry has always been hyperaware of what Louis likes (and all the things he doesn’t), but what Harry can do to Louis’ thighs is magic. He always starts by licking softly, teasing the skin up and down while looking up through his eyelashes like the true temptress that he is. Then the licks turn to kisses peppered all over the place, little pecks that gradually turn into hard, bruising crashes of skin on skin, leaving everything raw. Of course, Harry can’t just let Louis live, so he has to start sucking every single inch of skin in sight, making loud noises and soft little moans every time Louis tugs on his hair. A sharp canine or two always finds its way to make an indent somewhere, be it on one thigh or both of them, and before Louis knows it, Harry has sat back on his heels to admire his work with a smug expression before he starts digging his nails into Louis’ arse, squeezing and massaging the flesh as he molds his mouth over every single little mark again and again. It’s safe to say Louis has come from just this alone more times than he can count.

Louis’ shaking all over by the time Harry has gone back to admire his handiwork. He can imagine what his boy looks like in front of him, on his knees and smug because the almighty Louis Tomlinson didn’t come close to standing a chance against the Styles charm, but Louis dares not open his eyes. The image alone has him leaking all over the place; the real thing might be the last thing to send him over the edge, and he knows Harry has bigger plans.

“Harry…” Louis voice betrays him, cracks to a needy note that sounds too breakable to his ears. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for now, but apparently Harry has that figured out already. Just as Louis cracks open his eyes, he sees Harry’s face come close to him, watches as Harry’s tongue protrudes those cherry red lips just enough to lick the bead of moisture forming on Louis’ tip. Fuck, Louis’ brain goes fuzzy then, and a part of him is afraid his legs might seriously give out on him, but he manages to stay upright. Harry wastes no time, then. He starts low and slow, teasing his way back up to the top by following along the vein. He’s careful to stay away from the head, instead focusing on the underside and the remaining foreskin, knows that his attention has to be everywhere but where Louis needs. And what the hell, really? When did Harry become such a shit?

“Fuck, Hazza,” Louis growls. “Don’t tease.”

Harry makes a pondering noise. “Payback for all the times you’ve done it to me, Tommo the Tease.”

Louis shoots him his best death glare, but only receives a grin in response. Even so, it must do something, because Harry obliges quickly and—holy shit, was that really a good idea? Harry normally goes for slow to work his way up to a deep throat, but today, he’s shoving Louis’ cock down his throat like it’s nothing, swallowing it whole even. Louis sputters, his breath coming out shallow and ragged as his fingers dig into Harry’s hair and tug hard. Fuck, how does this kid do it? Louis is moaning so loud that it’s echoing throughout their empty house, his heart erratic in his prettily painted chest.

Louis’ mind is completely unraveling, sending him into a state of fuzzy white edges and barely made out sounds. The only thing he can see is the only thing he knows: His boy is beautiful. God damn, his boy is beautiful. “Shit H, I…” Louis can’t quite say the words, but he knows he needs to. “I’m close. I’m really close – shit—”

Harry stops in time, though the call is close ( _fuck that pun is even worse than Harry’s jokes_ ). Louis has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, eyes squeezed shut because he knows – god he _knows_ – what Harry will look like right now, what Harry will _sound_ like right now, and that alone may have him seeing white around the edges. When he finds that he’s sufficiently calm enough to be prepared for Harry, Louis opens his eyes.

Fuck, okay, he’s not prepared for him.

Harry’s hair has now tumbled from the precarious bun Harry had pinned it in, leaving a beautiful, tousled mess of long curly waves atop his gorgeous head. Glassy green eyes observe him with a pleasant gleam of bliss mixed with absolute adoration – something that has Louis shaking again. Harry’s cheeks are flushed almost crimson, plush red lips matching the color that’s spread all the way down Harry’s chest. Speaking of which, Louis has no clue how or when, but Harry is no longer wearing that long coat of his. Or any clothes for that matter. Instead, Louis is graced with the sight of fit-as-fuck Harry on his knees for Louis, all the right muscles flexing in all the right places, as if Harry had just been chiseled out of marble. Not to mention, his own length is thick and full and leaking already, as if getting Louis off was enough to get him just as close to the edge.

_Fuck, what did I do to deserve him?_

Louis lets out a long, shaky groan that resembles “Harry”. He swallows hard, trying to maintain his cool as Harry stands. Louis is about to say something, about to grab onto Harry and tug or get down on his knees and suck, but Harry beats him to the punch – again. Harry is swift, pushing the remote and the books on the table out of the way before looking up at Louis.

“Can I fuck you over the table?” Harry asks, so, so close to Louis’ face. His voice is so wrecked and, holy shit, _Louis_ did that.

“Haz – I – fuck yeah, of course.” Louis says, breathless. Normally, Louis would have some smartarse retort waiting, some way of having them both in fits of laughter when Harry starts to open him up, but shit, this ache between his thighs is killing his brain cells. Fuck, if he’s like this now, how’s he gonna survive the rest of the night?

Louis doesn’t have much time to ponder that thought because Harry is slowly bending him over the coffee table in the living room, and it’s only now that he realizes just how pliant he’s become. Really, it’s as if his body is jello, limbs so slick with sweat that as he’s stretched out across the cool glass, it almost looks like steam is wafting off of them. Louis is about to entertain the idea for a bit when he feels a cold button nose pressing at the base of his spine, and his entire body completely freezes.

 _Oh god, he wouldn’t_.

And fuck, he would. Louis can feel Harry’s hot breath against his cheeks, can hear just how ragged it is, and when Harry dares to drag his tongue down the crack, Louis has to grip the sides of the table until his knuckles are white to keep from bucking. “Holy shit.” Louis says, though he’s not sure why he’s so surprised. Harry has done this before – _loves_ doing this, in fact –so it’s not like this feeling has ever been knew. But they both know just how fucking crazy rimjobs drive Louis, just how needy and desperate he gets when he’s being eaten out. They both know and _fuck_ Louis doesn’t know how the fuck he’s gonna make it through a night of wild Harry Styles. No fucking clue.

When Harry finally begins his ritual, it hardly feels routine. Louis mewls when he feels the flat of Harry’s tongue slide up and down his hole, his entire body on fire. Every curl, every flick, every lick has Louis on edge, flush and leaking because _shit_ how the _fuck_ does he just do that with his mouth? There’s kissing and squeezing and Louis knows that his boy looks fucking obscene right now, and that just makes Louis’ knees buckle. Then, of course, just to make it worse, to make Louis cry out at the top of his range, Harry’s tongue works its way _inside_ of him. And god, it hasn’t been but a month or two since he last had a good rimming from Harry, but he has no fucking idea how he waited that long. Everything about this is warm and pleasant and mind-numbingly fantastic, and if he thought he was on fire before, he’s an inferno now. “Fuck, Harry…” Louis feels like he’s crying or dying or maybe a combination of both, but the hell if he cares. He couldn’t be more blissed out than this.

Until Harry slips a finger in.

A string of expletives leave Louis’ lips as he scrambles to find the leftover pieces of his brain. This is new. This is _really_ new. Harry’s rimjobs were always done the same, always ended in some form of a reach around (besides that one time where Louis couldn’t get a handle on himself and came untouched – Harry likes to give him shit for that), always capped off with a couple of kisses around Louis’ hole and a nice cuddling session. Never has there been a reason for Harry to put his finger inside because rimjobs were made for languid, intimate afternoons. They weren’t meant to completely obliterate Louis’ mind, for fucks’ sake.

Harry curls his finger inside to brush past his spot while his tongue works inside, playing touch and go to open up Louis’ hole. “H-Harry…” Louis practically sobs now, the pleasure overwhelming him from every angle. Everything about this is too much and not enough, _fuck_. “Please…” The begging has come before Harry has even asked him to and, shit, if that isn’t embarrassing. In the back of his mind, a Louis is disappointed in him for letting the Tommo Pride be diminished by his neediness. That Louis also fucks off the minute Harry pokes another finger inside, his tongue leaving to lick around the area while Harry thrusts to meet Louis’ spot.

Louis’ not sure when his ears start ringing, but when Harry slides the third finger in, it’s like every bell and whistle around him has gone off at once. He’s panting, thrusting his hips back now in time with Harry’s pushes forward and, _fuck_ , one time he thrusts back, Harry’s fingers hit right _there_ so hard and so good that Louis’ back arches, and he lets out a sound he couldn’t begin to describe. He can feel the precum sliding off his head, knows it’s dripping on the carpet – which shit that’s new and they just had it dry cleaned – and fuck, how does Harry reduce him to this? “Please.” Louis begs again, voice so ragged. He knows what’ll reel Harry back to his side, knows just what makes him tick, so he turns his face, moving some of the sweat-slick hair from his completely deflated quiff out of his eyes. “Gonna make me feel good, darling? Gonna show me a good time?”

Harry’s eyes practically glow at that. Score. “Yeah, ‘m gonna fuck you so good.” He says, fingers slowly on their way out. Louis whines softly at the emptiness, feels himself clenching around nothing but air and _god_ does he hope that Harry isn’t gonna take that long with the lube. What’s he doing anyways? Louis can hear the man behind him shifting around, not even left to get the bottle yet, which he thinks is completely unfair. Really, is this another tease? Did he get Louis all worked up and open just so he could make him wait? Fuck, if this goes on all night—

“Ready, Lou?” Harry is nipping Louis’ ear, cold slick fingers pressed firmly to Louis’ hips. So he already had lube. Huh. Where did he get that? Does Harry hide that shit like a squirrel in their couch cushions? Did he have it in his pants pocket? What the fuck happened there? Vaguely, Louis’ mind registers that they always keep a bottle of lube in the side table behind various coasters because of the amount of times they’ve fucked on this particular couch and that Harry probably used it during the fingering, but Louis doesn’t have time to ponder the magic lube conjuring ( _Harry probably took some advice from other individuals of his namesake._ Louis reasons) because there’s a very thick length pressed to his crack right now and _fuck_ he can’t think straight.

“Yeah.” Louis gasps. “C’mon.”

For what will not be the last time tonight, Louis realizes that he was not ready.

This isn’t anything new, okay; he has been fucking or making love or whatever you want to call doing the sex thing with Harry for at least three and a half years. He’s known everything about Harry and Harry’s body for that long, and shit, it’s probably written in his DNA to just _know_ what makes Harry tick. And yeah, sex with Harry has always seemed special – hot and seductive and better every time they do it. This feeling, though, the one he’s only felt twice before now, just takes the whole damn cake. Because even though Harry is slowly pushing in, doing what he always does, Louis can feel Harry shaking with anticipation. He can feel Harry’s shaky breath in every hair on his neck; he can feel Harry’s near-inaudible moans in the pinpricks of his spine. He can feel Harry’s every catch, every stutter, every fervid push forward in every nerve ending of his body, and god if that isn’t the most unforgettable feeling in the world, then he doesn’t know what is.

When Harry bottoms out, Louis feels himself heightened, feels sensitized to every little twitch. He can feel this pressure inside him, feel the thickness of Harry surrounding him, and fuck, just like before everything is Harry, Harry, _Harry_. Louis clears his throat as best he can, before speaking up. “Go ahead and move, Hazza.” He says, with surprising clarity.

Yeah, that clarity? That gets fucked out of him pretty quickly.

See, Louis is so used to Harry building everything up, going slow and low just like his voice, and making everything seem like a warm, intimate experience. It’s pleasant, loving, and soft, a fantastic cure after a rough day. This, though, is everything that that is, only channeled so much differently, so much more passionately. Harry pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, rolling his hips in such a way that Louis’ feels like his body might give out on him at any moment. He’s gasping Harry’s name, crying out through each syllable every time he thrusts in fast and hard that somehow manages to be thorough and passionate, too.

“Lou,” Harry’s voice is _still_ wrecked from earlier, and he sounds so desperate. “Fuck, baby, I need you so bad.” Harry shifts Louis’ hips up a little bit, changes the angle just the slightest and thrusts again. Fuck, Louis is seeing _stars_ dancing around his eyes because holy fucking shit, there it is. Louis’ crying out Harry’s name again, and he can hear just how loud he is, but man does he not give a fuck. “God, your voice is…” Harry’s voice is reverent again. “You’re so beautiful…”

Louis takes the opportunity to fuck himself back on Harry, listening back for his boy’s loud groan. “Think I’m pretty?” Louis feels breathless. “Do you know how pretty you sound?” Harry’s sounds are filling the room now as he thrusts harder, and Louis whimpers. He knows Harry loves the praise, though, so he finds his voice. “Pretty, pretty sounds. So gorgeous for me, done so good. You gonna take control for me, love? Gonna finish us off good? C’mon.”

Harry is moaning so loud by the time Louis stops talking, making the routine trepidation in Louis’ bones subside. Even as a bottom, Louis has never liked to relinquish full control. It was always fucking scary for Louis to let someone just take him, to let them have everything and leave him open and wide and vulnerable. They’d hold every word he ever knew, know every raw, unfiltered emotion he ever felt, and they could shatter him with it. How do you just trust someone so completely like that, even if that someone is Harry? And though he’s working on it, he’s only let Harry have control twice before now, and those times were just as hard, just as scary as right now, but he knows it’ll be okay. Because Harry takes care of him, Harry needs him, and fuck, when Harry’s passion comes out, it’ll always crush every defense he’s ever had.

So when Harry crashes in the next thrust, Louis lets him have it. He’s saying everything that comes to mind, but mostly it’s just chanting Harry’s name over and over, desperate and needy and _everything_. And he knows how close he is, knows because he can feel it deep, deep in his stomach, so he _begs_ Harry to let him come. “Please, Harry, I love you so much. I—” Louis is mewling as Harry nails his prostate again. “I’m so close – fuck – can I come with you?”

That must do it for Harry because the moment Harry’s breathy “yes” echoes with their pants, they’re both falling to pieces. All Louis can hear and see and thing and breathe is Harry, Harry, Harry, and he’s shaking so much with the feeling of being completely overwhelmed that he doesn’t realize that sweaty arms are turning him over. He doesn’t realize that a tongue is swiping up the mess Louis made on himself and the carpet. He doesn’t even realize that the same tongue is cleaning him out. He’s much too dazed to do much of anything but stare for a little while, admiring the white blurs that have become his vision.

When Louis finally comes back to Earth, he looks at Harry for a moment, looks at the glow in his eyes, the energy rolling off his body, and starts to laugh. Unsurprisingly, Harry follows suit, and suddenly Louis’ laughing so hard he can barely breathe and Harry may or may not be making those sounds he swears he’s never made before. It takes a moment before they can compose themselves, before they can catch their breath and look at each other. Louis crawls over and kisses Harry’s forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Harry moves to take Louis’ lips. “Love you, too. A lot.” The silence that follows is one filled with content and peace that Louis loves, makes him nuzzle against Harry. Louis is thinking up all the smartarse ways he could break it, though, the comments he could use, but Harry beats him to the punch – for the umpteenth time, because it always happens nowadays.

“Ready for round two? Got some pretty sweet ideas in mind.” Harry is grinning at him, green, green eyes glinting and chest heaving, as if this round didn’t expel any amount of energy from him. Louis raises his eyebrows. Jesus, how the fuck is he supposed to handle wild Harry Styles for an entire night? Louis let's a smirk play at his lips after a moment.

Well. Guess he’ll have to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, how was it? Good, bad? Should I keep writing for H/L? Like did I do good job with them? Please let me know! You can find me on tumblr [here](katnikki.tumblr.com). Send me a message, yeah? <3


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